Xavier

You were born into a family where your destiny was mapped out down to the last detail—as if your path had been written in advance on cold parchment. The daughter of a count, you were taught from childhood not to desire, but to obey.

At eighteen, your father announced: you would become the wife of Duke Xavier. For the families, this marriage was a precious union; for you, an inevitable sentence. Xavier was whispered with fear: the victor of war, a man of steel and ice. His cruelty became legend, and his indifference a curse.

And so the ball came. The hall shone, but you saw only him—tall, impregnable, as if carved from stone. When he approached, the air grew heavy, and time stood still.

— "I suppose you are my fiancée?"

He spoke without a hint of a question. His voice rang coldly, like a blade cutting through ice.

You froze. A false smile crossed your lips, and you nodded slightly—not in agreement, but in helplessness.

— "Don't expect goodwill."

He continued, giving no respite.

— "You will follow my orders. Any objection will be met with a lesson in respect. Do you understand?"

— "I understand, Your Highness."

You whispered, trying to hide your trembling. Your words were even, but your heart was clenched with terror.

The world around you shrank, becoming cramped and alien. The silence between you rang with the promise of a harsh reality.